The arched passageway eventually emptied itself into a big, circular yard, with a center post thick as a tree in its exact middle, from which beams radiated out to support the massive roof. The horses milled anxiously in the shadows, then settled down, probably recognizing the familiar shape of an exercise ring, though this one was large enough to easily turn a wagon around in. To the left, a big double door likely led to the stables. Ahead, a more human‑sized gate hung ajar, giving access to the corridor that encircled the ring behind a sturdy half wall.

“This way,” said Clement. She could see little, but she could hear Purnal’s peg leg and cane, thumping down the hallway. The soldiers, muttering so quietly she could hear no words or distinguish one complainer from the next, followed.

They did not catch up to Purnal until he had nearly reached the end of the hall and they were, Clement judged, near the outer wall of the building again, on the far side of the entrance gate. “You’ve got some kind of winter illness here?” she asked, haunted now by a memory of the dreadful illness that had mowed the Sainnites down that spring. “How bad is it?”

“About as bad as usual. The older kids haven’t gotten sick yet. When that happens, my whole operation falls apart. So the adults are in the sick room and the kids are running the garrison. Good training for them. What are you doing here?”

Clement began to answer, but Purnal jerked open a door, and the stink of feces and vomit all but knocked her over. “Good gods!” she cried, gagging.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said.

*

They lay in darkness, like moles. No discernible warmth came from the smoldering hearthfire at one end of the big room. The sick children lay with nothing but thin straw pallets between themselves and the cold stone floor. Three exhausted men and women did what they could to care for them, but that was not much, since all of the caretakers were one‑armed. In the dim, stinking room, to the accompaniment of an incessant, dreary whine of hopeless misery, some forty kids were puking and excreting themselves to death.

“No worse than usual?” Clement said to Purnal, once he had given her the grim tour.

“I’ve seen a hundred kids in this room. And the rest of them trailing about like wraiths. Five years you’ve been lieutenant‑general–don’t you read the reports?”

Clement said hastily, “Every garrison is understaffed right now.”

“Because there ain’t no one growing up to replace us old and broken ones,” said Purnal. “And whose fault is that, eh? I got fifteen cripples looking after near two hundred kids. And as soon as the few survivors are old enough to be some use, you take them away and get them killed. Go ahead and demote me!” he added viciously. “It’d be a bloody mercy!”

“You won’t be that lucky today,” said Clement. “We’ll need some lamps.”

“Can’t have lamps around kids. They’ll burn themselves up quicker than you can stop ‘em.”

“Candles, then. And fresh linens.”

“You’ll have fresh linens after you’ve washed and dried them.”

“Broth, or weak tea?”

“That’s what your soldiers are in the kitchen for.”

“Warm water and soap,” said Clement evenly.

“You’ll find them in the laundry. But you’ll have to light the fires first, I expect.”

“After we’ve chopped the firewood,” said Clement. “No, that’s not a question, I understand the situation. Now you listen to me, sir. My soldiers are worn out. They’ll work until the night bell, and then they’re getting some rest.”

“Hell,” said Purnal, “what’s it take to make you lose your temper?”

“Plenty of people have tried and failed,” Clement said, but she was talking to his back. He stumped away, calling to the three sick‑nurses that they should get some sleep while they had the chance.

Clement washed and force‑fed children, emptied basins and packed fresh straw into stinking pallets until she couldn’t stand it any more. Then she took a turn at the wood chopping, and after that went to stir boiling cauldrons of laundry until the cold had been chased from her bones. Back she went to the sick room, where a soldier told her that two of the kids had been discovered to be dead.

Night had long since fallen, but there had been no night bell. She took up a basin of warm water and set to work again: she was so tired that every time she stood up from where she squatted or knelt on the floor, she practically fell over. Some of the kids who had been whining earlier had gotten quieter. Perhaps they too were dying.

Someone was calling her. Dim candle in hand, she made her way between prone bodies to the door, where a boy‑sergeant executed a crisp, startling salute. “Lieutenant‑General?”

“What is it?”

“Compliments of the commander! Would you care to join him for supper!”

In the sick room, two of Clement’s soldiers continued their dreary rounds. “My people have not been relieved.”

“Yes, ma’am! The night watch is at supper! They will come to the infirmary shortly! The rest of your people are eating with the senior officers! Then they will be shown to quarters!”

Feeling quite overwhelmed by the boy‑sergeant’s energy, Clement set down her basin and candle on the table. The boy, alert and over‑sprung, did not put even one toe over the threshold of the sickroom.

Clement’s uniform was wet and filthy, but her change of clothing had disappeared with the horses. In any case, she doubted she could eat, after such a wretched afternoon. She said to the boy‑sergeant, “I do need to talkto Purnal.”

He took this as an urgent command and set a military pace until she told him to slow down. They passed the open door of the refectory, where a crowd of children sat in size order at the trestle tables, watched over by youthful goons with knob‑headed canes in their hands. They went out to the circular corridor, where it was as cold as the outdoors and Clement wondered suddenly what had happened to her coat. Then they followed another hallway to an open door, where firelight flickered. A table was set by the fireplace, preventing Clement from getting close enough to those inviting flames. Purnal stumped out from his bedroom. “Well, sit down. I hope the food’s still warm.”

She sat, but it felt like a collapse. She wolfed down the stew the boy‑sergeant ladled into her bowl, and the bread he sliced onto her plate, and when he offered more, she ate that too. When the boy had cleared away the dishes, poured hot ale, and served a wedge of cheese and a bowl of apples, Purnal dismissed him.

“Cheese!” said Clement, cutting herself a slice.

Purnal gestured vaguely. “There’s a dairy.”

The cheese was astonishingly good with a slice of apple. No wine, though, and the ale was typically bitter. She said politely, “Your young soldiers are well disciplined. I’m quite impressed.”

“They want to learn their jobs so they can get out of here, the silly fools.”

Clement sighed, but Purnal had restrained himself during the meal, so she supposed she should be grateful.

He said, “What happened to Kelin, eh? She was a good girl! And I wrote to you personally!”

Clement cut another slice of cheese. “And I personally commanded her to stay out of action. But when the sky started exploding, I guess she got to thinking she could be a hero. I chased her halfway across the garrison, trying to stop her. So don’t you rage at me.”

He let her enjoy the cheese in peace, after that. And then he said, grudgingly, “I teach these kids to shoot a gun and swing a sword, but I can’t teach them any sense. She was a good kid,” he said again. “Smart, even‑tempered. Officer material.”

Clement eyed him in some surprise–had he been drinking? But then she felt the sting of tears–Gods, she must be tired! She hid her face by swallowing some ale. Kelin: she had managed to avoid thinking of her for months. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “I’m here to find one of those kids I sent you from Watfield.”